Interrupted Solitude
by TheCrazyFanGirl23
Summary: He enjoys his solitude, his days spent in the woods, tracking, killing, free from any interruptions, but it was never long until someone came and ruined it.


It was dark, real dark, the sun having long ago been set and the stars having already made their powerful presence known, illuminating the cloudless sky with their bright lights and enticing the ones who dare to look up and admire their beauty, their magnificence, giving them a sense of security, of wonder, and dare I say hope to all who are fortunate enough to witness the transcendental scene above. It was truly a sight to behold. The air was exceptionally thick and heavy with moisture, it being an average June day in Georgia. The air was so thick and heavy that it seemed to cling to its surroundings, weighing it down and making it difficult for the living to move, whether it be the deer that laid newly slain, or the triumphant Daryl Dixon with a recently fired crossbow in hand.

Daryl wiped a few beads of sweat from off his glistening forehead with a calloused hand before rising from his kneeling position, stretching his stiff legs, and revealing his hiding spot from behind the thick shrubbery. He made his way over to the deer, picked the creature up with ease, and then slung it over one shoulder to be carried back to his sad, dilapidated excuse of a home. Tonight, however, the thoughts of his filthy trailer didn't depress him like usual. It was too good of a night to be wasting it with thoughts like those.

Daryl loved the woods. He had a passion for hunting, and tracking, and though he would never admit to it verbally, he immensely enjoyed the natural beauty that a forest provided. It was calming, and distracting, and while Daryl was inside amongst the endless shades of green he truly felt like he belonged, and that was a feeling that a Dixon would not normally come by. So he treasured it, and kept it to himself. That was his own little happy secret, and, like a normal Dixon, he didn't have many of those either.

The deer's carcass was beginning to take its tole, literally dead weight upon his shoulder. He hoisted it up higher to get a better grip but stopped in his tracks when his home came into view. The lights were turned on, seemingly throughout the entire house, and Daryl knew for a fact that he had not turned them on since he had left to go roam the forest at ten am that day. Only one plausible person came to his mind as of who could be inside and he sighed, feeling agitated. He'd been enjoying his solitude for the past couple of months. At times a feeling of loneliness would make an appearance but a trip into the woods would always cure him of that. He had been looking forward to eating this whole deer by himself too. He hasn't eaten since sometime early yesterday and he hasn't made as big of a kill like this in a while. He kicked the dirt with his foot, causing a puff of dirt to rise up before making his way over to the house. There was no sense in standing there like an idiot, the situation was inevitable, and the deer was only getting heavier. He kept his crossbow close, however, wanting to be prepared if for some crazy chance an intruder had stumbled upon his trailer, in the middle of nowhere, saw how run down, cheap, and filthy it was, and still decided to ransack the place.

"Let me know if ya' find anythin' good," he mumbled bitterly to himself as he set the deer down on the ground before he pushed open the front door, crossbow ready in hand.

"My, my, Darlina, what a catch ya' got there! Been keepin' busy while ya' big brotha's been gone?"

That sarcastic, insolent voice was so familiar to Daryl that it sent shock waves of memories flooding back into his head. Oh yeah, that was Merle alright.

"Is that deer for meh? Aw, Darlina, ya' shouldn't have!"

The laughter that dripped with obvious disparage forced Daryl out of his spinning thoughts and he kicked the door shut behind him before asking, "Why'd they let ya' out, Merle?"

Merle laughed that detestable laugh again and Daryl couldn't help but roll his eyes as he set his crossbow down and then made his way to the kitchen to get a knife for skinning his kill.

"Ya' weren't supposed to be out for a couple more weeks," he mumbled under his breath as he fished out the knife.

This seemed to only make Merle laugh louder and he followed Daryl briefly before leaning his body against the frame of the door leading into the kitchen with crossed arms.

"Good behavior," he answered smugly.

He grinned again, triumphantly, and then laughed like he had just won something big, and in reality Merle had just won. He played those dumb cops with a few measly "pleases" and "thank yous" and a few good natured smiles thrown in for good measure. Daryl could just picture it already and it made him sick. Merle always won.

Daryl didn't say anything as he walked past his brother, knife in hand, and made his way back outside to where he had placed the deer. Merle's laughter followed him and he quickly got to work in frustration, easily removing the skin from the carcass with swift, graceful moves that were due to years of hard practice. He was a true hunter at heart.

"Mighty good kill, lil' brotha! Ya' been eatin' this good since I've been gone?"

Daryl couldn't help but flinch at the sudden startling sound of his brother's voice. He was embarrassed by this and tried to play it off like nothing had happened. He ignored his brother and continued with the skinning.

Merle, the type of guy to never take any bullshit, or know when to let things go, however, not surprisingly, wouldn't have any of it, even though he almost always went about situations like this wrong. Merle never was someone known for using his head.

"Scare ya', Darlina?" he laughed, mockingly, and then set to grinning before saying, "Ya' always were just a big ole' pussy."

The younger Dixon's face flushed red with embarrassment and anger, and when Merle called him out on it with that mocking laugh of his, he lost it.

"Fuck off, Merle!" He shouted angrily, abandoning his work upon the deer on the ground and turning to face his brother with fury in his eyes.

"Is all you gonna do is stand there and mock me when ya' could be helpin' to skin this deer!? Dammit Merle, you're lucky ya' can even eat tonight because without meh ya' couldn't! Instead of being the useless, asshole self that ya' are, why don't ya' help for a change!?"

Merle didn't seem taken aback by his little brother's outburst, nor did he seem angry. Instead he laughed that distinctive laugh of his before heading back inside with a shake of his head.

Daryl watched him go with calculating eyes and stood there, fuming silently to himself with anger and frustration over his brother's behavior before kneeling back down, picking his bloody knife back up, and aggressively getting back to work.

It gets old very fast having to take care of another person while barely being able to keep yourself afloat, and Daryl has been doing this for, God… over thirty years now. Some things never change.

The hunter groaned in aggravation and stabbed, a little too harshly, into the gruesome, unmoving body of the deer, causing blood to soil his jeans. He cursed loudly, and stopped all movement. He couldn't do this when he was this angry but dammit he couldn't help it! Why did Merle always have to get under his skin like this? Ever since they were little kids Merle had teased, belittled, mocked, hurt, and controlled Daryl, but what pissed the younger off the most was not that Merle did all of that, but that he continued to allow it to go on. He had the power to make it stop, to tell Merle to fuck off and go off to live on his own somewhere, preferably near the woods, or even in it, and allow Merle's rent to go unpaid, the bills, until the house gets taken away and Merle is left with nothing but the ratty clothes on his back and the pills in his back pocket. Daryl could go and live that life of solitude, but he never did, and he never will, and he doesn't know why.

"Ya' gonna just stare at it or are ya' gonna help me?"

Merle's loud, tantalizing voice came from behind, once again, causing Daryl to noticeably flinch. He turned his head, ready to tell his brother to "fuck off" when he saw the knife in his hand. He couldn't help but stare dumbfounded as Merle rolled his eyes, squatted down next to him, and got to work on the deer.

"What the hell'd ya' do to this thing?" he grumbled as he took the skin off with true Dixon skill. "Ya' don't have to kill it a million times, Darlina! It's dead the first time." He was talking about the ugly stab wound in the side of the deer due to Daryl's earlier spell of anger. "I'll take ovah, ok? Don't want ya' fuckin' up our dinna!"

Daryl couldn't help but smile at this. He knew this was his brother's strange way of apologizing, which he did not do often, so he cherished the moment.

"Fuck off," is the reply Daryl shot back with, although his voice was free of any hostility. Merle smiled in reply, if only just a little, and Daryl knew then why he never left his older brother's side. It's always been just Merle and him.

**This story started off as a small idea about the peculiar relationship between the Dixon brothers one day while I was in Modernism (I was supposed to be analyzing chapter three of The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, but I could not get the Dixon brothers out of my head, so I just had to write this). I might turn this into a long story but that all depends on the reviews and if you guys like it or not. So please, please, please review and tell me what you think :D Good and bad comments are welcome! All are helpful :)**


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